


Friendship

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Thranduil suffers Elrond’s new travel cup policy.





	Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Although Imladris is generally busy, especially during the peak hours during which Thranduil usually visits, he gets lucky on Saturday morning. There’s no one else in line, and no one comes in immediately after him. Most of the tables are still full, and there’s a light, friendly buzz as elves, hobbits, and even a few Men and dwarves drink out of ceramic cups and dig into their rice bowls. There’s a golden-haired elf sweeping in the corner, and a plain-looking brunet attends the counter. Thranduil approaches the till and orders without preamble, “Pumpkin spice soy latter no foam to go.”

The elf nods, taps a few buttons on the register, and looks around at Thranduil’s empty hands. Thranduil begins digging out his wallet, but the barista prompts, “Do you have a cup, sir?”

Thranduil looks up. “A cup?”

“A travel mug?”

Thranduil shakes his head and produces his wallet. As he’s opening it, the barista turns around and opens the cabinets along the back wall, producing a large red ceramic mug. He brings it back to the counter and passes it to a stern-looking elf that’s been working at Imladris since its inception. Erestor, Thranduil thinks. Erestor goes to presumably get started, except Thranduil corrects, “No, _to go_.”

Erestor stops, slides the cup back to the barista at the counter, and goes back to scrubbing down his station. The barista at the till politely asks, “Would you like to buy one of our travel mugs?”

“No,” Thranduil repeats, now speaking deliberately slowly, because obviously the idiot barista is having trouble understanding him. “I want it in a plastic cup.”

The barista counters, “Paper. But I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

Thranduil’s glare deepens, and it’s all he can do not to call the fool every name in the book. Instead, he icily demands to know, “Why not?”

He can tell the barista’s resolve is crumbling. The brunet shrinks back and meekly answers, “I... I’m sorry, we’re... supposed to be cutting you off...”

“Cutting _me_ off.”

The elf nods.

Thranduil sucks in a breath to steady himself before he looses his cool. He glances at the barista’s nametag. Even though this particular elf serves him every other day, Thranduil’s never bothered learning the young thing’s name. Clearly, he’s not worth it. Thranduil leans over the counter and coldly says, “Listen, Landir—”

“Lindir.”

“Whatever. Do you know who I am?” Before Lindir can answer, Thranduil steamrolls, “You know those enormous vineyards outside of town that are responsible for half the tourism in this miserable little place? I’m the _owner_ of those vineyards. And I’m a very close friend of Imladris’ owner. As in, _your boss._ I also have more change in my pocket on any given day than your entire net worth. So I suggest you stop testing my patience and give me my latte _to go._”

Pink-cheeked, Lindir opens his mouth and closes it. He looks about ready to break. But he doesn’t get the chance, because Elrond sidles in out of nowhere. Thranduil’s head snaps over to him. Elrond cuts in, “What seems to be the trouble?”

“This insolent barista is refusing to serve me in a paper cup,” Thranduil hisses, quite sure that he’s about to witness a firing.

But Elrond casually responds, “That’s right.”

Thranduil blinks. “What?”

“Thranduil, this has gone on long enough. You come in here nearly every single day and use a disposable cup, which you rarely bother to recycle, and in our spare time I’ve even noticed you buying bottled water—”

“So there’s something wrong with _water_ now?” Thranduil scoffs, incredulous. 

“There is when you’re regularly purchasing it in plastic containers. Even if you did diligently recycle them, it wouldn’t make up for the carbon footprint of their production. Honestly, Thranduil. You’re a grown adult. You know better.”

“Then to what?” He furiously retorts. “Then to _drink_?”

“Your drinking problem is a different discussion for another day. I’m talking about using disposable products when you could just as easily have a single steel water bottle or travel mug.”

“_Why?_ This is more convenient—”

“You’re not stupid. I’m not going to sit here and lecture you on the environment. You’re an elf. You’re supposed to care.”

“The _environment_? Are you serious? Don’t you _dare_ try to pin climate change on me; the Men are doing it, and you know that. Not to mention dwarves—”

“And I do my best to vote against their pipelines and corporate greed, but regardless of who is the largest contributor, we’re _all_ responsible, and that means every person has to start doing the bare minimum. And requiring the same of those around them. Which means you, my friend, are now required to live at least a fraction more sustainable.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrow. The whole conversation is an absurd one to be having in line at a coffee shop. He actually wishes there were a growing line of customers behind him, so Elrond would feel the pressure of his ridiculous timing. Unfortunately, Thranduil remains the only one at the counter, and none of the seated customers subtly listening in stick up for him. Thranduil points out the obvious: “You’re going to go out of business rather quickly if you demand all your customers share your politics.”

“One, it’s not politics, it’s survival, and two, I’m not demanding anything of my customers. I’m demanding something of _you_—a friend who considers himself an intelligent, conscientious person.”

The worst thing about Elrond is that his tone always stays so _reasonable_ when he’s talking, even though Thranduil wants to banish him from the premise. Thranduil has half a mind to purchase the building and do so. After a long moment of the two of them staring one another down, Thranduil dares, “Perhaps I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

“You’re free to do so, but if you think this is the last you’ve heard of this issue, think again.”

Thranduil squints. “I’m not buying one of your ugly travel mugs.”

Without once breaking eye contact, Elrond plucks up one of the metallic canisters atop the snack bar and sets it on the counter. “Consider this one on the house. Use it.” 

And with that, Elrond actually has the nerve to turn and _leave_. If Thranduil were a few hundred years younger, he’d scale the counter and tackle Elrond. 

While Thranduil’s still glaring at Elrond’s retreating back, Lindir weakly asks, “Do you... still want a pumpkin spice latte...?”

Thranduil whips back to him and snaps, “Of course, you imbecile. Get on it!”

Lindir snatches up the travel mug Elrond selected and scrambles to get it started, practically tripping over Erestor in the process. Thranduil angrily dumps his change onto the counter and sorts out the exact amount, making sure to not leave even a single penny as a tip.


End file.
